


stargazer

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Balcony Scene, Clothed Sex, Emperor Armitage Hux, Enforcer Kylo Ren, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Now that Armitage Hux is ruling as emperor over the entire galaxy, he has time to breathe, sit back, and look at the stars.





	stargazer

**Author's Note:**

> Finished my Titleception fic! Went for something that tried to delve into Hux's mindset a little more, and included some smutty fun with Kylo at the end. Hope you like!

The stars used to hold little allure for Hux.

Raised on cruisers from as far back as he can concretely remember, they’ve become a part of the background, like wallpaper plastered outside the viewport, specks of light too distant and indistinct to draw the eye, to become anything of note. Hux’s eyes glaze over them, accept them as a ceaseless presence in his life without true care for their origins, the lives that might call them home Even traveling to those distant stars holds no intrigue for him, no curiosity piqued when he descends to the planets orbiting those stars, not when he sees clouds skimming over vast oceans, nor the shimmering textures of jungles that twisted up and out, nor cluttered cosmopolitan cities, spreading cancerous over knobby landscapes left yet-undeveloped.

Occasionally, Hux debates whether something’s broken inside him, when he sees even his fellow officers and subordinates, their eyes wide like children’s, like someone who’s never seen a foreign landscape before. He may scoff, outwardly, and toss an order around, just to wipe those expressions off their faces, but later when he has no option but to lie in bed and confront his own mind, he dwells on it. 

The scant memories he retains of Arkanis present no stars. To young Armitage, the sky never held much more than heavy clouds, blossoming downwards like bruised bellies as they dumped yet more rain upon the earth, left it to swell and flood endlessly. Only gloom graced his eyes whenever he dared to look up, so often times he kept his gaze even, levied at his father or those other few who bothered to tend to him. As he changed, shooting up in height but less in breadth, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on what lay before him, even as he found himself floating in the mire of space, mapping his route of conquest straight through it.

Hux considered himself superior to the mysteries of the galaxy, to foolish, obscure beliefs others tailor their hopes to. The stars had been nothing more than tools in his hand, great masses of gas and plasma meant to fuel his ambitions, channeled into a weapon to obliterate the effete remains of the New Republic. Starkiller’s beauty had come from her capacity for death, as a symbol of Hux’s power and dauntless determination, with no innate, empty aesthetic otherwise stealing his breath. She had mocked the inert power of stars, their petty splendors—until she’d collapsed, derailing Hux’s scheme, yes, but not devastating it.

After all, he’s come so far, kept his eyes unceasingly fixed on the end goal, on the summation of all the suffering and shame he’s been forced to endure. It would be untenable to give up now, no matter how many setbacks he must overcome, how many obstacles seek to deflect his rise to the top—which wild card is sent fluttering atop his tidy, reshuffled deck. 

Kylo Ren, as an aside, fits awkwardly into Hux’s plan, an irregular peg often refuses to jam into the hole he has planned out for him. In many ways, he’s a hindrance, rage and esoteric desires muddying Hux’s aims—but in other’s he’s wound up quite the boon. For one, he’s forced Hux out of his comfort zone, the shield he constructs around himself to rebuke any assistance, made him re-evaluate his own desires and retune his aim for the inimical knight, this time _incorporating_ his whims rather than combating them.

Part of him feels he _owes_ it to Ren, as ridiculous as his former self might’ve found that notion. But he’s killed their former Master, and instead of pursuing Hux, now vulnerable without Snoke’s favor, he’s left the path to supremacy unexpectedly clear—as if honoring the general’s hunger for it.

And now Hux teeters on the precipice of his victory, the Resistance barely clinging to life, ultimate goal so close within his reach and yet it’s just as likely the ground will destabilize beneath him and thrust him back, and _Ren_ —volatile, argumentative, mystifying Ren—is the one with a firm hand to his back, urging him forward. Keeping him steadfast, unyielding in pursuit of his goals—yet pliant in the safety of the bedroom. Within those private walls, when Hux is at his most vulnerable, his most shaken and unsure, Ren _sees_ , and doesn’t take advantage.

Hux never thought Ren, obsessive about the vagaries of the Force as he is, could possibly suit the grounded scheme of his own ambition but—matchlessly, rapturously—he does.

* * *

On the night of Hux’s coronation, the skies above Arkanis open. The world below, long glutted with rain, wavers with a small, almost uncertain breeze, as if the other elements themselves are taken aback at the sudden absence.

Hux stands out on the balcony of the newly constructed palace as battalions of troopers parade below, their pageant continuing though the emperor’s long retired. But for once, Hux isn’t looking to the smartly organized soldiers, nor all the visible land of the planet that finally belongs to him. Instead, he tilts his chin back, watching as the clouds above slowly dissipate, miraculously revealing the brilliant canopy of stars above him.

They’re no longer just pinpoints in a battle plan, resources to be plundered, energy to be sucked dry and used to vanquish all obstacles in Hux’s path. Now, with his reign firmly secured, with the Resistance decimated and cast to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, he can stand back and properly appreciate the beauty inherent in their simplicity.

Hux hears the door softly click behind him, but doesn’t move. He knows who it is—there’s only one other he would ever permit to see him in such a softened state, and even he understands how deadly Hux can be, even when caught in a moment of repose. Kylo’s cloak sweeps a few errant leaves off the balcony, letting them flutter through the banister on the procession below.

Hux leans back when Kylo rests his hands on his waist. Their size, their ability to make Hux feel small and strong all at once, will never cease to both amuse and arouse him. He tilts his head slightly to the side as Kylo rests his chin on his shoulder, whispering lips near to the emperor’s neck.

“A proper congratulations is in order.” Kylo’s hand drifts from Hux’s hips, to where the two sides of his robe clasp together with golden fastenings. Hux doesn’t believe such ornamentation is necessary, that their empire’s military might is a far greater factor in intimidation than the dress of its leader, but Kylo has expressed how much he likes seeing Hux in such finery, so he’s acquiesced.

Hux turns his head to the side, watching the starlight play on Kylo’s face, his hair, tingeing it all in a bluish sheen. The latter looks spun from the void of space itself, something infinite and untouchable crafted into soft, unwinding waves that Hux loves to trail his fingers through. He gives into the temptation, lifting his hand to brush against the hair falling around Kylo’s throat and speaks, voice a tad hoarse from the enormity of his speech. 

“What do you have in mind, imperial consort?”

That’s not Kylo’s only title, nor even his superlative one. “Supreme Leader” has become tainted for the both of them, and while Hux likes “Enforcer” due to the image of power it conjures, naming Kylo his consort amuses him. If Hux has his way, they’ll certainly get a lot of mileage out of the title.

Though honestly, Kylo doesn’t seem all that offended by it. He may snort softly against Hux’s neck, but he follows it with the careful, tantalizing brush of lips, giving the nascent emperor exactly what he desires.

“I knew white would look perfect on you,” Kylo murmurs, trailing lips up his jawline. “You wore black for too long. Now you glow like a beacon in the proper lighting. Exuding pure power, drawing all others to you.” A proper kiss, to the downy hairs on his earlobe. “Subjugating them before your eminence.”

Hux thinks the robes, so pale they look unnatural, meld too readily into his wan skin, but he knows Kylo adores it—the way the regalia looks as if it’s already become a part of Hux’s body, imperiousness writ in his very biology. Hux accepts his compliment, relaxes into Kylo’s arms, letting his willful consort begin to ravish him as he rests his head back against a broad shoulder, eyes open to the stars above.

Kylo treats the emperor’s body reverently, but his touch isn’t wholly delicate, as if he’s both proud at what Hux’s become yet understanding that he can weather cruder treatment. Like a statue set out in the elements, or a prized weapon clasped in hand. 

Hux’s fingers grip the balustrade before him, white gloves crinkling as Kylo slips a thigh between his legs to cradle the underside of his cock, where it’s started to harden in his ceremonial pants. Kylo keeps one hand on his hip while the other circles Hux’s waist to brace him properly as he grinds his own cock against the emperor’s rear. Hux’s fingers dive past merely stroking Kylo’s hair to knit with his locks, steadying himself and pulling a little moan out of his consort as Kylo rubes their bodies together.

The hand on Hux’s hips slips past the waistband of his pants, grasping at his cock. The leather of Kylo’s gloves quickly warms around the hardening flesh, well-worn friction not taking long to boost Hux’s arousal. He squeezes his thighs together around Kylo’s leg, already tailored fit of his pants tightening.

Hux stands up on the tips of his toes, stiff construction of his boots flexing as he rises with Kylo’s motions, their bodies rutting back and forth in a manner truly unbecoming of the recently crowned emperor and his companion—but the stars have opened new appetites inside Hux, leaving his affection as bare and scintillating as the multifold lights above.

They don’t need to disrobe, not just yet, but all the same they come beneath the open sky, beneath the finally liberated air of Arkanis, and as Kylo’s hands squeeze him close and euphoria thrums from his loins to his lips, Hux finally understands what others feel, when they look up at the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
